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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697775">how could i have known</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fate_motif/pseuds/fate-motif'>fate-motif (fate_motif)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Scurvy, Sexual Repression</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:21:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fate_motif/pseuds/fate-motif</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the horizon, Tom had searched for him desperately, as if he could find him and then call to him. <i>Please. Come back. Come back.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, John Bridgens/Harry Peglar, Magnus Manson/Thomas Hartnell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how could i have known</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The grueling march to the south ceases to mean anything to Tom Hartnell for days. He would haul, he would eat, and he would sleep, but there was little left of the man that had left Terror Camp with the promise to bring the names of the dead back to their world. All that remained was a vessel for all those ghosts; the mark they'd left on him breathing life into him to bring about the effort needed for the walk. Left, right. The belts chafe at him like chains and his feet had long gone senseless. Yet he remains upright. He wouldn't have fought this war against King William Land for himself. But the days keep turning and his duty burrows into him deeper and deeper until there was little else but that list of names. It was whenever they paused that the strangest ache took hold of Tom, behind his heart, and he would search at the horizon with a burning he couldn't understand.</p><hr/>
<p>They lose Captain Fitzjames by their first stop.</p>
<p>The burial is bleak and exhausting, as all days are, but once Tom is done preparing the late Captain's shroud, he is unable to take his eyes off Captain Crozier like he was what Tom was searching for desperately beyond the endless hills of shale. There's less of his soul now, in his faltering words and weak step, like the creature had brought him under the same spell that had befallen Heather and Pocock. When Captain Crozier walks away, he receives a pat on the back from Mr. Blanky. A stroke of recognition runs through him. Was he like that now? Had he been brought into this living death?</p>
<p>"Hartnell. You'll be with me putting him away," says Lieutenant Little, subdued but still authoritative.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>His hands are twitching when he grasps the pick for the shallow grave. Nevertheless, Tom swings his arms back and forth for the task, alongside Lieutenant Little, until there's about two feet of indention at the base of one the hills. It's like a bad dream he's had before, and someone's missing in it but the sun burns through Tom and his mind fizzles out when he tries to remember when he'd done this before. The pair are left to place stones over the shroud, doing their best to leave it as inconspicuous as they'd found it. His heart aches again.</p>
<p>"Lay him down, boys," echoes Lieutenant Hodgson in his head.</p>
<p>On the walk back, Tom adds Magnus Manson to the list of names he wants to bring with him south, but it's somehow not right.</p><hr/>
<p>They lose Mr. Blanky that afternoon.</p>
<p>There's no time to dawdle and look back at the old seadog, because the tightening under his heart is getting stronger and stronger, and he can barely take on the weight of the boat on his chest anymore. All of his pain, however, was immaterial in the face of his mates'. Henry Peglar's stride is more of a shamble, and his breath is ragged and high-pitched. He's the next one to collapse unto the shales. Tom breaks through his spell and pauses his march to crouch down to his fellow seaman's side. His fall had been slow, so he'd taken no blow from having buckled under the hauling effort, but the exhaustion has wasted him away so much that no bandages could bring him back up for a haul. Henry's eyes are dazed, and his cheeks feverish; it was to Tom like he was looking into a mirror.</p>
<p>Mr. Bridgens has broken formation as well, and rushed to Henry's side as a good doctor would. Yet when Tom and Lieutenant Little aid Henry out of his harnesses, Mr. Bridgens rips the seaman away from their grasp and holds him in his arms with a fire Tom had never seen in him before. Henry clings to the man panting like Mr. Bridgens was life itself, and Mr. Bridgens... The solemnity of his face. Mourning Henry already, yet holding him up because he'd be lost if he didn't hold him up. Tom's mouth opens, and he understands what Mr. Bridgens will be losing soon.</p><hr/>
<p>Tom wakes up the morning after their first stop in a bedsack soaked in pus and black blood. The stench clearly has Bobby Golding uneasy, because he's grimacing when he leaves the tent, and grimacing when he returns to the tent with Mr. Bridgens in tow. He sits up and removes his shirt for Mr. Bridgens to look it over, but he is almost numb to his own body by now. Mr. Bridgens, by his side, winces at the sight of his whipping wounds and produces a rag from his apron for the task of cleaning up the wounds once more. It seemed like an eternity ago that Dr. McDonald had salted and dressed the cuts, and the pain was fresh to him all over again. The sudden lightning stroke of pain cutting across his backs causes him to cry out and double over, panting desperately through the agony.</p>
<p>"The captain should have never had you whipped," says Mr. Bridgens, in a rare confession. "You're a good man."</p>
<p>In spite of the pain, Tom gives a little chuckle to himself. "I don't see what that has to do with being whipped, sir," he replies, while his mind sets itself once more to the ardent feeling that had bound Henry to Mr. Bridgens, and Mr. Bridgens to Henry; with all the tender care of a husband and wife that had spent their lives together. Had they any whippings on their record, if they'd been driven to love each other physically too? Then that was two good men, whipped despite of who they were.</p>
<p>"Have you been whipped, Mr. Bridgens?"</p>
<p>Bridgens stops dabbing his wounds.</p>
<p>"For loving him?"</p>
<p>The wind flaps through the tent, the fabric whistling over their heads filling in the deafening silence. Bobby Golding sits by his sack and where he had kept to himself before, he looks over the other two men with blank shock.</p>
<p>Mr. Bridgens resumes his work. "No."</p>
<p>Tom breathes through his teeth, as the cleaning reaches the rawest ends.</p>
<p>"But you do love him. Peglar." Bobby asks Tom's question for him, and his glance upwards to Mr. Bridgens is hesitant and confused.</p>
<p>"Yes. We love each other."</p>
<p>Tears begin to spring to Tom's eyes when Mr. Bridgens says this. They're already rolling down his cheeks and landing on his closed fists when Mr. Bridgens begins to take out new bandages for him.</p>
<p>"I don't think those tears are for me, are they, lad?" Bridgens' observation is both right and wrong, but Tom shakes his head. He uncurls one of his fists and reaches over one of his shoulders and further back to where the skin was red and swollen, but not broken. The impulse is unbidden but so strong, to try and magic back up the tender touch that had brought him relief during the days after his whipping. He wishes - he wishes so badly -</p>
<p>"You had a - " Bobby cannot even finish his sentence, because he's clearly bewildered by the thought of Tom buggering anyone like a common crook.</p>
<p>Tom's eyes are shut. "No," he sobs. </p>
<p>"Did he know?" Mr. Bridgens is kind in his asking, but the past tense summons more tears unto Tom's dirt-streaked face.</p>
<p>"<em>I</em> didn't know."</p>
<p>All Tom wants right now is Magnus' hands over his back with the healing touch, and his song and his fiddle tunes, and racuous laughter that Tom had marvelled at during the carnivale. In the horizon, Tom had searched for him desperately, as if he could find him and then call to him. <em>Please. Come back. Come back.</em></p>
<p>Bobby takes a deep breath, before leaving the tent. Once, Tom would have been concerned by his reaction. Now he's just engrossed in the memory of Magnus' deep brown eyes, the ones he wished he still had on him. It seemed like it was only one instant that had driven them away from each other. Hand still on his back, he begins to shake with sobs. His remaining hand is caught between Mr. Bridgens' rough paws, and Tom has Mr. Bridgens' quiet gaze on him.</p>
<p>"Don't let this ghost torment you, Mr. Hartnell, if all it will bring you is guilt." The steward sniffles himself, as he's also beginning to cry. "You were candid, with him, with everyone, and gentle to the last."</p>
<p>Tom looks at the entrance of the tent, rapt with longing.</p>
<p>"I should have held on to him like you did. But I didn't know."</p>
<p>Mr. Bridgens kneads his hand softly instead. "He will be with you to the end."</p>
<p>
  <em>To the end.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>If only.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title from keaton henson's song of the same name.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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